Stranger
by CabooseHeart
Summary: It's time to leave for good. Thing is, Connie's not sure where she's going yet and she has a few hours to walk around. She can leave it all right now, or she can stay. Turns out, there's a third option.


**Stranger**

 **Pairing: Agent Connecticut/Agent South Dakota**

 **Description: It's time to leave for good. Thing is, Connie's not sure where she's going yet and she has a few hours to walk around. She can leave it all right now, or she can stay. Turns out, there's a third option.**

 **A/N: These lyrics are from the song "Landlocked Blues" by Bright Eyes, and it's one I've found especially well-suited for Connie. Hope you guys like this fic!**

 **~I've grown tired of holding this pose  
I feel more like a stranger each time I come home  
So I'm making a deal with the devils of fame  
Saying "Let me walk away, please."~**

* * *

It's especially warm tonight on the Mother of Invention. It's mainly because half the staff is sick with a rather awful fever- one that even you have- that the Director is hoping can be simply sweated out of you all. You're still wide awake as you roll over in bed, switching to lying on your back as sweat rolls down your cheeks- _are those tears?_ \- and soaks your mattress until it feels like you've wet the bed. You flop noiselessly onto your side, eyes glazed over as you stare at your roommate. South Dakota's fast asleep, amazingly enough, even though she has the same fever as you do. She's lying on her side, facing towards you, her face scrunched up as she squirms occasionally, as if in an intense battle with some inner demon that has a hold on her. But South is anything but a quitter- even if it's all a dream, you hope she wins.

After you stare for longer than necessary, you sit up in bed, panting under your breath like a black-furred dog whose been in the backyard too long. Your tank-top's too sweaty so you yank it off, wadding it up before tossing it to lay at the foot of your bed, all wrinkled up and wet with sweat. Now you're only in a plain white bra and brown, paw-print pajama pants. You don't mind though- your roommate is South after all, whose trekked around the room stark naked before- and you crawl out of bed without doing anything to shield your wet, bare skin. The floor is icy cold as your feet land on it, causing you to let out a long, content sigh, like you've finally gone to the bathroom after holding it for too long. South shifts, disturbed by the sigh of relief, before rolling over, continuing to sleep peacefully.

Ever so quietly, you tiptoe to the large clothes pile in the far corner of the bedroom, the one North hasn't organized since Theta crawled into his brain and made himself at home. You wonder, sometimes, where the old North went. South doesn't like to bring Theta up, you've noticed, not that you've asked much about her brother's AI. That's what Theta is to you two now: North's AI. You assume it's fine that way, that there's no real reason to get attached to North's AI and make it real by giving it a name in your head. But back to the present. You pull from the pile one of your older T-shirts- a baby blue one with a yellow bunny on it- before pulling it on over your head. After adjusting it, you grab one of South's hoodies from under the pile, tying the sleeves tightly around your waist,

With that settled, you leave South to sweat and dream in peace. The hallway is a little cooler than your bedroom, but it's still not all that better. It's still hot as Hell. Your footsteps are quiet and scared as you pace down the hallway, the florescent lights above your head reflecting off your bare arms, making the skin glisten with sweat. You rub a hand over your face, through your hair, and then down the back of your neck, the pads of your fingers just grazing over the neural implant meant to turn this war around. War. You're not even sure if there _IS_ a war still going on. Didn't Master Chief end it awhile back? Apparently not, because you're still in deep space without a single letter from Earth telling you to come home. You're never going home, are you Connie?

Just as you enter the kitchen, you feel your communicator vibrate noisily in your pajama pants pocket. You swipe it out, entering the four-digit password before answering the phone. "Hello?" You ask, voice hesitant and quiet.

"Hey." Responds a voice, and you recognize him right away. How can you not? You've known the Insurrectionist Leader for so damn long, it's hard not to recognize his voice, even when he's sick. He's not, thankfully. "Heard you were down with something. You still ready to split at three-hundred?"

"Uh… _yeah_. Yeah, I think so." You mutter dumbly, swallowing nervously as he reminds of why you're awake, of why you're pacing the halls at night, of why you stole one of South's hoodies even though it's boiling hot in here.

"Hey, it'll be okay." The Innie's voice is soothing, just like a cat's purr, or South's laugh- _no, no, don't think about her, don't let yourself fall into that head-space_ \- or even a child's laugh. "I know this is hard for you- you've worked with them for a long time- but this'll be good for you, CT. It'll all be just fine."

He sounds like he's soothing a dog that's about to be put down, and maybe that's why you don't break down as you continue talking to him like nothings wrong. "I've got everything we'll need to take him down. Remember: we do this fast and hard. No unnecessary damage." What she means to say is ' _Don't shoot the pink and green one_ ', but it just doesn't come out that way.

You have a feeling that the Insurrectionist Leader nods at this, as a pause passes by, and you're seconds from hanging up the phone when he says: "Just remember what we're fighting for here, CT. We're fighting to take down the _real_ monsters in this war. If that means hurting people you _thought_ were your friends-" It's funny how he says ' _thought_ ', like you think _nothing_ of them now. "-then that's just how it goes. Not everyone makes it back, Constance."

You hate it when he calls you Constance, then again, he hates it when you call him Jackson. You figure it's karma. It probably isn't. "So I'll see you at three-hundred?" You're changing the subject here, Connie. But that's okay. Even if he notices, it's okay.

He swallows, roughly, and you think he's about to say something - something that might make you run away from him right now and _never_ look back- but he doesn't so he doesn't lose your trust just yet. "If you're still game. See you then." He's gone then, hanging up on you. You think you should call him back, maybe to apologize- _what for, Connie? What for?_ \- but you don't in the end.

After the call has been over for a few more minutes, you trail into the rec-room, sighing sadly as you catch sight of the still erect pillow-fort you and the team built a few months ago. Before Tex and before the leader-board. Things were nicer back then. You consider, if only for a moment, climbing onto the pillow-fort's throne, sounding the fire-alarm, and childishly declaring yourself the new queen once everyone's gathered. But that's not what you do. Instead, you carefully walk around the pillow-fort and take refuge on the couch, curling into a ball as you try to ignore the ever present heat and the pillow-fort behind you. You can't afford to start regretting leaving right now, not while you're still here, still in the moment, and still trying to decide what you'll do next.

You jump when you hear someone come in, and your ONI-III special agent training kicks in like when an abuser comes home. You duck and cover, hand going to your hip like there's a gun there that you can grab. Your hand shakes violently and your fingers twitch as you try to grab at thin air, only to find nothing to defend yourself with. A few seconds pass by, with you listening to the intruder and the intruder slowly but surely approaching you. It could be a number of people on-board: Wash, Maine, 'Lina, The Director- you _want_ to know but at the same time you _don't_. You wait instead, until something weightless and cardboard is placed upon your head, slightly crooked due to the dresser's shaky hands and your uneven hair. You turn, looking upwards as you find none other than South Dakota behind you.

She's clad in nothing but a light purple training bra, and long, purple, Barney pajama pants that look a size too big on her. She smirks at you, crooked, then lets out a loud, thunderous laugh. You jump so bad that you almost fall off the couch, but South's faster and grabs you, giving you the most sorry look, like she's just back-slapped you or beat you. Maybe she knows what it's like to flinch when a voice gets too loud? You suppose you'll never know, not at this rate you won't. You sigh as you remember that, and once South lets go, you lean your back against the couch, closing your eyes in exasperation as you try to relax and let it out. South, taking note in your extreme change in behavior, hops quietly over the back of the couch to sit beside you, intimately close to you.

"You alright, Connie?" South asks, ever so quietly, like one word will tear down your walls and send you spiraling backwards into space. That's probably not far from the truth. "You seem really distant lately."

"Sorry." It just comes out, mainly because you have nothing else you can say without telling her everything, and God, you want to tell her _so damn badly_. "I just… if I told you what was going on… I'm not sure what would happen to you." It comes out like a threat, and it might just be.

South nods, before giving you another one of her famous smirks. You can tell she's trying to be funny, but even _she_ can't hide the worry and fear from her voice. "Who you think you're talking to, clam-shit? If you haven't noticed, I'm the best hand-to-hand on this ship." She doesn't add Tex to that equation, you think, but you're not about to bring it up. "I think I can handle any baggage you've got, Connie."

And for a moment, it hits you like a bullet in your gut. You trust her the most out of everyone on this goddamn ship, and yet here you are, about to fucking leave her to fend for herself. Her brother hasn't hardly talked to her in weeks, everyone's been giving her the cold shoulder, and she is moments from breaking and setting this family- team: they're not a family anymore, not after this they won't be- on fire. If you leave her now, she's going to crash and burn and you might just do the same. You wonder, somewhere in your head-space, why this hasn't hit you before. Maybe you knew, but just couldn't face it until you were faced with nothing else? You wonder, also, if you will decide to leave her right now.

It wouldn't be all that bad, you try to tell yourself. You're not South's _ONLY_ friend on the MOI, right? Surely someone _else_ has been listening to her, right? … _Right_? The silence in the air is so thick and heavy that you could throw a knife aimed to stick in-between South's eyes right now and it would probably get stuck in the air. You consider it, for a moment, but you have no weapons on you so such a fate cannot occur. Do you kill her, right here, in this room, in another universe? Probably. Do you leave her in this room, to suffer and be abandoned once again, in another universe? _Yes_. _Yes you do_. But not in this universe. In this universe, you stand up, look her in the eyes, and hold out your hand to her. In one other universe, she does not take it and you alone crash and burn. In this universe, however, she takes it.

In this universe, Agent South Dakota takes your hand and never lets go.

* * *

 **A/N: Here you go, guys… enjoy.**

 **~CabooseHeart.**


End file.
